And while he was there by the moss-grown grave,
The far-off dash of the summer wave,
The bloom of flow'rs, the balm of air-
What were they to him in his wild despair?
NATURE'S TEACHINGS.
Go forth with NATURE-she hath many voices,
Speaking deep lessons to the human heart,
Where the blue streamlet in its course rejoices,
And where amid the forest wild birds dart,
Bearing in some sweet chorus each a part;
Wind, wave, and blossom, tree and fragrant sod,
The mossy hillock in its robe of green,
The tiny bells that in the breezes nod,
Lifting their dewy heads, broad leaves betweenEach has a tone, a lesson; man hath need
Oft to go forth and ponder all their lore:
In nature's open volume he may read
Truths of the mightiest import, and in awe
Bow down a humble heart, an unseen power adore.
Go to the OCEAN, when its giant waves
Are lashed to fury in the tempest's hour,
And, while each tortured billow madly raves,
Learn thou the Lord Jehovah's might and power;
Then turn thee to the little modest flower,
That blooms unnoticed 'mid the gay and fair,
Or gives its bright cheek to the summer shower,
And read his watchful love and goodness there.
The lilies of the field are still his care,
And He who fixed the rolling worlds on high, And spread above the broad blue arch of heaven, And clothes it with the gorgeous hues of even,
Looks on the meanest worm with guardian eye, And marks the sparrow's fall, and heeds the raven's cry.
Go, trace the WATERS of the sparkling rill,
From out their rocky birthplace wildly gushing,
Trickling in infant beauty from the hill,
Or in the sun with diamond lustre flushing :
Now gliding onward for a while serene,
Now twisted roots and vexing rocks between,
Then dashing on with fiercer, wilder force,
And swifter race, along their destined course,
To mingle with the ocean waves at last.
And such is life-its childhood's fount so fair,
Its youth's gay morn so joyous and so free,
Its manhood's hour of fearful strife and care-
Its age of rapid flight so quickly past-
Till lost amid thy depths, eternity.
Go in the SPRING-TIME-When the smiling earth
Puts on her robes of beauty for thine eye,
And lo, she speaks of that celestial birth
The spirit knows in brighter worlds on high.
And, when the AUTUMN winds all mournful sigh
Through leafless branches, then go forth and store
Thy mind with thoughts of death, and read once more
The lessons of thine own mortality.
Ay, wander forth with nature, every glade,
Each leafy aisle amid the forest shade-
The lightning's flash-the thunder's awful roll-
The rainbow's arch-the dazzling orb of day— Have each mysterious tones to pierce the human soul.
THE PANG OF SEPARATION.
O! NEVER can we know how dear
Each loved one is, till we have known
The deep regret, the bitter tear,
That comes when those loved ones are gone.
THE DEATH OF A FATHER.
Он! yes, there's a pang which the fond heart feels,
When the damp of death o'er a Father steals,
That crushes its mirth in too fearful a fold,
By the lip, or pen, or Muse to be told.
Oh! there's a tear which suffuses the eye,.
Then bending to catch the short farewell sigh,
That springs from a fountain too troubled and deep
To glisten in song, or in elegy weep.
Oh! there's a shriek from the wild soul that breaks
When the last quick flutter of pulse forsakes,
Too shrill with horror-too poignant with pain
For fancy to echo, or heart to feign.
Oh! there's a fixed and a sad silent gaze
That follows-of doubt, of despair, and amaze-
Which speaks, in its silence, too fearful a state
For thought to image, or dreams to create.
Alas! both this gaze and this shriek have been mine; The tear, too, and pang-pang which none can define, Like a tree scathed with lightning-black, wither'd, and riven,
I stand in life's desert-yet, pointing to Heaven.
Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit!
Night dews fall not more gently on the ground,
Nor weary, worn-out winds expire so soft.
By unperceived degrees he wears away:
Yet, like the sun, seems larger at the setting!
High in his faith and hope: look how he reaches
After the prize in view; and, like a bird
That's hamper'd, struggles hard to get away!
Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded,
To let new glories in, the first fair fruits
Of the fast-coming harvest. Then, oh! then,
Each earthborn joy grows vile, and disappears,
Shrunk to a thing of nought! Oh! how he longs
To have his passport signed, and be dismiss'd !—
'Tis done, and now he's happy.
He looks abroad into the varied field
Of nature; and tho' poor, perhaps, compared
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers; his to enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel,
But who with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say, "My Father made them all!"
THE STRANGER.
A STRANGER came to a rich man's door,
And smiled on his mighty feast;
And away his brightest child be bore,
And laid her toward the East.
He came next spring, with a smile as gay,
(At the time the East wind blows),
And another bright creature he led away
With a cheek like a burning rose.
And he came once more, when the spring was blue,
And whispered the last to rest,
And bore her away,—yet nobody knew
The name of the fearful guest!
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